


everbloom

by bukkunkun



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Anachronistic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Broken Families, Cyborgs, Ethical Dilemmas, Eventual Smut, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Maids, Slow Burn, Violet Evergarden Fusion, jesus christ i don't know what i was doing with this, please just take this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 23:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunkun
Summary: “I am mostly metal, yes,” Connor nodded, opening his eyes to look his master in the eye. “With perfect features and ball joints, made of iron, among other things. But I was once human, just like you.”Anderson blinked at him.“I was simply repurposed.” He curtseyed at the man again. “And I will never wilt. Now, I shall begin my duties as your maid, Lieutenant Anderson.”Lieutenant Hank Anderson acquires a CyberLife top-of-the-line metal doll maid.





	everbloom

**Author's Note:**

> > me: enters a fandom (read: dbh) because I’m a horndog  
>  my hands: allow me to court you slowly, with all the grace you deserve  
>  me, blueballing: please... hands... I just want Connor Detroit fucked up the ass what do you mean we need a plot for this
>> 
>> — bukkun @ #EatingForTwo for nano 2018! (@trickscd) [20 November 2018](https://twitter.com/trickscd/status/1064851216469913600?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)
> 
>   
> i tried to write hankcon pwp three (3) times and failed miserably, but then the moment i make this fucking violet evergarden fusion i finished 3k in one evening i hate myself
> 
> anyway hello please......... let me into twt jericho i want to be.... where the people are....... 
> 
> updates on this will be a little splotchy because i have way too many fingers in way too many pies but You Know What I Like It That Way also nanowrimo is kicking my ass lmao 
> 
> btw whoever it was who came up with calling RK900 nines/niles is a fucking genius, i love you

There was a lonely house near a hill.

It was big, for its three occupants, with a second floor and a landing and all the access to steam electricity that the rich elite enjoyed in the fancier side of town. This house, however, was near a more suburb place, and remained an island from the world thanks to an unkempt garden, wild roses growing against aged glass that fogged up with fireplace warmth in wintertime.

Sometimes, children would think the place haunted, until a boy and his large Saint Bernard came bounding out, and the world knew that life still thrived within its walls.

The automobile hissed as it came to a stop in front of the lonely house, and the driver looked over his shoulder at his passenger.

“That’ll be $5.50.” He said, and his passenger primly reached into his satchel to hand him the money with a delicate, leather-gloved hand. “Thank ‘ya.” He cocked his messenger cap at him, and the young man in the back seat gave him a kind smile.

He adjusted his bonnet, and CyberLife’s latest cyborg stepped out of the taxi with only the sound of rustling cloth following the shift of his body.

The taxi driver watched him approach the house by the hill, awed at the beautiful young thing that rode on the back of his cab just moments before.

The young man was lovely, with soft, delicate features and pretty freckles speckling his skin. His lips were pink, his hair and eyes a warm brown and softer than a warm embrace against the bite of winter cold. He was in a maid’s uniform, a black skirt not too long, but not too short—a perfect length for modesty, and yet not long enough to trip up children, coming down to his calves to show his neat white stockings and plain black shoes laced up to the top in a neat little ribbon. He had a pristine white apron—wide, and with neat ruffles and laces at the end that was pinned down his skirt neatly, a clean ribbon tied behind him, perfectly straight and not a single crease marred it. The white cap resting atop his head, nestled neatly in coiffed brown curls, had a pair of lace trails, and his hands, curled around his small luggage bag, were covered with elegant brown gloves.

He whistled lowly. A lucky man, the owner of that lonely little house, was.

Satisfied to see the maid make it to the porch of the house, he drove off, and the cyborg turned to look in the car’s direction, before taking a small breath.

Today was the first day of the rest of his life, Amanda said. Let his repurposing not be in vain.

He looked at the quaint little mailbox by the porch, and read the name on it.

_ANDERSON, H._

He smiled to himself. To the Anderson household.

He rang the doorbell, and stood back to wait for someone to answer.

* * *

Cole Anderson was a boy whom one could argue was a lonely boy.

Not that he was alone, mind—he had his dog, Sumo, and his father, Hank, but he still could quite say himself that he was lonely.

It wasn’t that his dog didn’t obey him, or that his father didn’t love him, but there were some times in a child’s life where the attention of just the one parent wasn’t quite enough to nurture a growing little heart of 6 years of age. Still, Cole did his best to remain kind, obedient and the least of his busy father’s problems, and as such, knew better than to simply answer the door when the doorbell rang.

He lifted his head from where he was playing hide and seek with Sumo—he was the seeker, this time, though Sumo wasn’t very good at hiding, really—to look at the door, and then at his father’s study. Hank was home, yes, but the man didn’t take kindly to unexpected arrivals.

Well, he didn’t take kindly to _any_ form of arrival, sans Cole’s.

He looked at Sumo, who cocked his head at him, and he bit his lip.

“What do you think, boy?” He asked, patting the dog’s head, and Sumo replied with a soft bark. “Should I go call Dad?”

Sumo barked again, and Cole sighed. “Yeah, thought so. Hold on a sec.” He got up from his seat in the middle of the living room to head to the window, leaning up on top of the ledge to peer out through the fogged window to see who it was at the porch.

His eyes widened to see a maid standing outside, and he was even more surprised when the maid turned to look at him, and gave him a kind, sweet smile.

It was a smile that was not unlike the way Cole’s teachers smiled at him, but this time it was different.

This time, it was a smile he could see every day of his life, right inside his home. He jumped off the ledge by the window to beam at Sumo.

“Sumo! Let’s call Dad!” He said cheerfully, and the dog barked in approval. Giggling, the boy headed to his father’s study, his heart pounding in his chest.

It’d been so long since someone else lived in their little—big—lonely home with them.

The maid—the maid would be a welcome change.

* * *

The boy in the window looked very sweet, the maid thought, and wondered if he would take as well to him as he hoped. He clenched his hands, and his smile slid off his face.

Would they take kindly to him, he wondered, knowing what he was. Would they even let him into their home? They’d have to, at the very least. It was snowing outside, and while the maid no longer felt it, he knew his body was growing cold. He needed warmth, soon.

That, and he knew Lieutenant Anderson was one of the greatest law enforcers this side of Detroit had ever seen, so surely he would understand duty?

An objective, an imperative that served as a driving force for the rest of your life?

He shook his head, and steadied himself.

He was made to adapt to changes, regardless. His body may have been of steel, of other little knickknacks far beyond the knowledge of any citizen of the 19th Century would know of, but in his chest a heart still beat.

Reinforced with titanium it may be, it was still a man’s heart.

At least, that was what he would like to think.

His limbs still hissed with the electric-steam system that powered him, but he still moved like any other human did—he could do _more,_ Amanda said, but he hoped he would not have to.

He was a maid, repurposed he may have been, a maid he still was and a maid he will be.

The door opened eventually, and he let a smile lift his pink lips into a soft, practiced greeting.

“Hello, Lieutenant. My name is Connor, I’m the cyborg sent by CyberLife.”

He had expected a sharp man, all angles and the suit becoming of the Detroit Police Department, and not… _him._

Henry Anderson stood before him with the image of an unkempt man. Shaggy, long silver hair framed his face, and his large frame sagged with a weariness that Connor felt in his own bones, like a heaviness of breath that stole the steam from Connor’s power sources. His eyes were sunken, glassy, almost, and it looked like he had just woken up from a deep sleep. He was in a rumpled shirt that tried to hide underneath a coat hastily pulled on, his suspenders hanging from his hips instead of holding his trousers up from his shoulders. Fluffy slippers took the place of shoes, and Connor could see them wiggling slightly in trepidation at the sight of him.

For a moment, Connor was taken aback. Was he not expected, after all? Was this all on such a short notice?

Then again, he thought, regaining his bearings, Lieutenant Anderson was in his own home. Whatever formality—or lack thereof—was in his personal right to exercise, and on this cold winter day Connor wouldn’t blame the man for opting for some well-needed comfort over societal propriety.

That and in the first place, cyborgs like him that were more human than machine, never really had the right to polite company anyway.

 _“Connor,”_ his brother’s voice said in his head, _“Remember, we are still alive.”_

Blood, everywhere.

Alive, Niles once said.

He plastered a smile on his face, regardless, as Lieutenant Anderson stared at him.

Perhaps he needed a clarification?

“Hello,” He said again, “My name is Connor. I’m the cyborg sent by CyberLife to assist you.”

“Assist me with what?” Lieutenant Anderson’s voice was rough with sleep and annoyance. “I’m not on any case.”

“Help.” Connor replied, and gave him a prim curtsy. “I’m a maid cyborg prototype designed to aid servicemen in their day to day lives. Being in law enforcement, it must be difficult for you to—”

A sneeze cut him off, and Connor looked down to see the little boy standing behind Anderson’s legs, rubbing his nose meekly. The man turned to look at the boy, and Connor held his breath—

Would he get mad? It wasn’t the boy’s fault—

He opened his mouth to defend the boy, when much to his surprise, Anderson’s steely blue eyes went soft, like the summer sky he sorely missed, and he knelt down to look the boy over.

“See, what’d I tell you, Cole?” He said, rough still, but softer. Kinder.

Something fluttered in Connor’s chest.

“It’s freezin’ out there. Throw a coat on.”

“Won’t you just let the maid in?” The boy—Cole Anderson, Connor realised, the Lieutenant’s son—pouted, and his father paused. “He must be so cold, too.”

“I assure you, I am fine,” Connor began, but Anderson huffed, shaking his head.

“Get in, kid.” He jerked his head at Connor, who nodded obediently and strode inside with his luggage, gently shutting the door behind him for his new master.

“Thank you very much.” Connor nodded at Anderson, who muttered something intelligibly, before turning to kneel in front of Cole to meet his gaze. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Connor. Thank you very much for your kind consideration of me.”

“I’m Cole!” The boy smiled at him. “You’re nice. And you’re so pretty!”

Connor chuckled at that, flushing a pretty pink.

“Thank you.” He said, and straightened up to see the Lieutenant watching them. He gave the man a smile again, and curtsied. “Thank you for your kindness as well, Lieutenant Anderson.”

Much to Connor’s surprise, a large dog came bounding down the hallway, barking delightedly as it approached. The cyborg’s eyes widened as he was suddenly jumped on by a Saint Bernard, barking and licking his face affectionately.

Soon laughter spilled from Connor’s lips as he tried to get the dog to stand down, gently resting his hand on his head as it continued to assault him with affection, and Cole laughed along with him. The dog only stood down, though, when Anderson pulled him back with a click of his tongue and a tug on his collar. The dog whined, pawing at Connor’s skirt hem, but Cole pulled him away, giggling. Connor gave the dog a smile, but then turned to look at his master when he cleared his throat.

“Study, with me, now.” He said, turning to head away from the living room, and Connor easily followed him, setting his luggage by the stairwell off to the side before stepping into his master’s study to see him sitting at his desk, thick fingers laced together as he inspected Connor over them.

The cyborg shut the door behind him quietly, and stood to attention in front of the Lieutenant. He folded his hands together neatly on top of his impeccable apron, and stood up straight.

“Now listen here,” Anderson said, after a long moment’s consideration. “I didn’t order a fuckin’ cyborg maid.”

“Affirmative, Lieutenant Anderson.” Connor nodded. “You have not placed an order for me, though doing so is impossible, actually, as I am the only—”

_“Connor, do your best.” Niles’s smile was bleeding red. He couldn’t be bleeding red. His hand on Connor’s cheek was warm as always, but sticky with the scent of iron. No, it wasn’t fair—_

_Niles, come back_ —

Anderson raised an eyebrow at him, and Connor pushed on.

“As I am the only prototype of my current cyborg modification model.” He managed, glad that emotion could be modulated, and his voice wrangled into control. His smile remained, pretty and placid, and he knew he did exactly what he was repurposed to do.

“Yeah, yeah,” Anderson waved his hand dismissively. “But _why_ are you here? Why _me?_ ”

Connor knew the answer to this, though he wasn’t sure if that would improve his relationship with his master or not.

Well, he had a directive, and he was sticking to it. What happens after, happens.

“The Detroit Police Department reviewed your file and wanted to improve on your performance. They therefore deemed it fit that you have aid around the home and your child, while you can focus better on your career as a police officer.” He said, and Anderson’s brow furrowed.

“Those goddamn fuckin’ bastards just won’t mind their own goddamn business…” He muttered, shaking his head as his hand reached out for the bottle of whiskey on his desk. “Sending over a fucking cyborg. Those nosy motherfuckers…”

“If I may, Lieutenant, I agree.” Connor said mildly so as not to anger him, and the man looked at him witheringly. “I do believe that my aid would be of tremendous help to conserve your energy, so you could spend time with Cole.”

Anderson regarded him for a moment, before pouring himself a shot with a heavy sigh.

“It’s not like you’ll leave if I make you.”

He would, actually. If the good Lieutenant wished it, he would send himself right back to CyberLife. There they would, at best, decommission him right off the bat, and at worst, repurpose him again.

Connor, for all his tin can heart and all his body of steel, wasn’t supposed to want for anything. Cyborgs, more metal than man, were no different from machines.

From lifeless, unfeeling _things._

And yet.

“I will not.” Connor replied, and decided to be brave. “Cole seems lonely.”

Anderson looked at him, wide-eyed, and Connor kept his expression neutral.

“Lonely.”

“You may not see it, not in the way he smiles or speaks, but it’s in his eyes.” Connor said. “I’ve seen eyes like them before.”

In the mirror. In his brother.

He shut his own eyes, and sighed. “Please. Allow me this one directive. Surely you understand.”

Anderson let out a derisive laugh. “I understand.” He echoed flatly. Wry and snide, not affirming but derogatory. “For a metal doll you sure sound and act like flesh and bones.”

“I am mostly metal, yes,” Connor nodded, opening his eyes to look his master in the eye. “With perfect features and ball joints, made of iron, among other things. But I was once human, just like you.”

Anderson blinked at him.

“I was simply repurposed.” He curtseyed at the man again. “And I will never wilt. Now, I shall begin my duties as your maid, Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Hank.” The man said, and the cyborg looked up at him. “Call me Hank inside my own house.”

“Understood.” Connor said, straightening up and folding his hands together in front of his apron to smile at him. “As you wish, Hank.”

He turned to leave, when the man cleared his throat again.

“And, uh.” Hank said, suddenly awkward, and Connor looked at him over his shoulder. “Do me a favour and stock up the kitchen. There’s a spare key on the key park by the door.”

“Understood.” Connor nodded, and moved again, when Hank interrupted him again.

“When you come back, uh.” He scratched the back of his neck as Connor turned to look at him properly. “I’ll try to get the spare bedroom sorted out for you in time. It’s under the stairs.”

Connor curtseyed at him again. “Thank you for your generosity, but I don’t require my own quarters.”

He didn’t have the right to those, actually.

“I can simply stay in stasis to conserve energy in the living room or the kitchen, or continue working through the night.”

“No way in hell you’re not.” Hank shook his head. “Not about to have some weirdo standing in my living room throughout the whole damn night. You’ll give me night terrors.”

A genuine smile made its way onto Connor’s lips, and the man’s eyes lingered on him.

“Thank you.” Connor said, almost breathlessly, “That means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Hank muttered, waving him off. “Hope you know how to cook.”

“I most certainly do.” Connor nodded. “I’ll see you later, Hank.”

The man grunted, and Connor stepped out of his room. He gently shut the door behind him with minimal noise, but as he turned around he almost jumped to see Cole standing across him in the hallway, eyes wide and his little fist curled in Sumo’s fur. There was a matching pair of scarves wrapped around his and the dog’s necks, and he was now wearing a coat despite the warmth the fireplace and the radiators offered them. Connor smiled at him, and strode over to his side to stroke Cole’s hair.

“Hello, Cole.” He greeted.

“Did Dad send you away?” He asked meekly, and the cyborg shook his head.

“Only for a while to restock the kitchen.” Connor replied, and the boy lit up. “I will be back in time to prepare dinner.”

“Can I come with you?” He asked, and Connor frowned.

“Um, I think you should ask your father about—”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Hank’s voice behind him made him jump, and Connor turned to look at the man. Hank was standing in the doorway of his study, leaning against the frame casually.

For a moment, Connor thought his heart stopped.

The way Hank looked like that, casual and relaxed, the crease in his brow loosening into a calm expression, made him look less imposing than when they first met. Like that, it made it easier for Connor to see the man’s blue, blue eyes, the strange little way his lips curled up into a little smile surrounded by his beard fuzz.

He reminded Connor of a warm, relaxed bear, and for a moment, the cyborg wondered what it felt like to be in the man’s arms.

He raised an eyebrow at him, and Connor flushed. He knew Hank wouldn’t be able to read his mind, but it certainly felt that way anyway. He tore his gaze away from his master, flustered. He didn’t know what to do—he wasn’t sure what to make of that innocent little realisation, but he didn’t have to do anything when Hank spoke up.

“Just take care of Cole, make sure he doesn’t catch a cold.” He said, and shut the door again.

Connor turned to look at Cole, and smiled, his shoulder slumping in relief.

“To the shops, I suppose.” He said, and the boy cheered.

“Let’s go, let’s go!”

He grabbed Connor’s warm gloved hand, the maid laughing brightly as Cole pulled him along, and something fluttered in his chest again.

Perhaps he was lucky, he thought. Perhaps here, he could find a happy life waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> me, a fool: heheheh connor detroit in a maid outfit  
> my hands, Not Horny: ah, sad and in a maid outfit not unlike violet evergarden's? that anime you refuse to watch because no matter how pretty it is, it's still sad and you can't handle that?  
> me: h  
> my hands, spitting in my eye: have at this, motherfucker


End file.
